Aryan walked toward the flipped sedan, bent down, and looked at Osanai, who was unconscious.
Ritul passed behind him, stopping at one of the overturned crates, which had spilled apples and cash. There were many more crates like this, filled with money, guns, and drugs. He asked Aryan in a serious yet calm tone,
"Did he survive the blast?"
Aryan replied,
"Yeah, but he's out cold—same with Lucas and the driver."
He turned around and saw Ritul standing with his back to him, holding a pack of drugs. Aryan ordered,
"Bring the G-Class."
As Ritul turned, Aryan added,
"Load everything we need into it and leave that junk truck—the Cybertruck—here."
Ritul nodded and tossed the bag aside. Before moving, he asked,
"What about them?"
Aryan responded by kicking the sedan's window, shattering it. He smirked at Ritul and said,
"I'll handle them."
Ritul turned away and began transferring their supplies from the Cybertruck to the G-Class.
Meanwhile, Aryan dragged all three men out of the wrecked car. He tied up the two mafia members but left the driver. After loading the unconscious men into the G-Class, he turned to Ritul—now seated in the passenger seat, dressed in a black t-shirt, joggers, and white sneakers—and demanded,
"Hey! Where are my clothes?"
Ritul didn't look up from his phone as he answered flatly,
"On the driver's seat. Change fast—cops'll be here any minute."
Aryan quickly swapped into a black t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers.
They took a long detour back to their mansion. By then, it was already 11 PM. On the road, they spotted emergency vehicles speeding toward the warehouse, sirens blaring. Watching them pass, Ritul muttered,
"Can't wait for the news."
Exhausted, he reclined his seat and fell asleep in the car.
The backseat was filled with all the equipment, and behind it, the tied-up mafia leaders sat, their mouths sealed with tape.
After a while, they woke up. Aryan had given them some medicine to prevent them from sleeping. As they started making movements, Aryan yelled at them.
"STOP SHAKING YOUR BUTTS AND KEEP QUIET!"
They both heard it and looked at each other before stopping their movements and sitting still.
About ten minutes later, they arrived home. Aryan shook Ritul's hand to wake him up. Ritul woke instantly, knowing there was still work left to do.
Aryan asked Ritul, who was rubbing his eyes.
"Open the gate for me."
Ritul got out of the car and opened the gate. Aryan accelerated straight to the garage and then down to the basement, where he dragged both mafia leaders into the interrogation room.
Meanwhile, Ritul went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a pizza from the refrigerator, and put it in the oven. As it heated up, Aryan appeared and asked.
"Is there something to drink?"
He opened the refrigerator. Ritul replied, taking the pizza out of the oven.
"Well, no, there's nothing left here—but yeah, I can make some coffee."
Aryan responded.
"If you can, then make one. And yeah, I want iced coffee."
Ritul nodded as he sat at the table, grabbing a slice of pizza. Aryan took a slice himself and said between bites.
"I'm downstairs in the basement... Need to finish this fast. We should be heading to Venice soon."
Ritul gulped down his slice and spoke,
"Actually, I wanted to try this thing."
Aryan responded,
"What? You want to try interrogation?"
Ritul slammed the table and replied,
"Yeah!"
Aryan raised an eyebrow.
"How'd you suddenly get interested in all this? Huh— you are some kinda Inosuke or Bakugo?"
Ritul's eyes sharpened. His head tilted slightly as he locked onto Aryan, voice laced with warning.
"What?!!"
Aryan grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender while shaking his head.
"N-No, haha! I-I didn't mean your behavior—just that you're all about action!"
Ritul calms down and responds.
"Well, actually, I've been watching some detective shows lately—so I'd like to handle this interrogation myself," Ritul said.
Aryan took another slice of pizza and replied, "Fine, go ahead. But remember, if I feel we're running out of time, I'm taking over."
Ritul shot up and sprinted off—but Aryan suddenly remembered the coffee he'd asked for. He turned and called after him,
"Ri—"
Too late. Ritul was already gone.
Aryan sighed, slumping back.
"Guess he didn't wanna make that coffee after all… Ugh, whatever."
Ritul marched straight to the basement, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
Inside, Osanai and Lucas were struggling against their restraints. Aryan had tied them to chairs, but Lucas had toppled backward, the chair now pinning him to the floor, while Osanai gnawed desperately at the ropes around his wrists.
Ritul entered silently, hauled Lucas upright, then dropped into a chair across from them. His voice was eerily calm.
"So. Osanai. Lucas. You two were dealing drugs and guns?"
Lucas snarled, "Yeah, we were. And even if we weren't, it's none of your damn business! Let us go, or you won't live to see tomorrow!"
Ritul smirked. "Not an issue for me. Let's move on—who's the kind soul you were selling to?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he leaned toward Osanai, cracking his knuckles. "You seem smarter, Osanai. I'd hate to see you answer poorly."
Osanai's mind raced.
"I can't betray Leo. Even if I talk, there's no way these idiots could stop someone like him."
Lucas exploded, veins bulging at his temples.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM—SOME KIND OF IDIOT?!"
Osanai, still calculating, muttered under his breath.
"Well... there were two of them, if I remember right."
Ritul didn't even glance at Lucas as he tossed back.
"Yeah. You are."
Lucas lunged against his restraints, spit flying. "YOU LITTLE—"
"Hey Stop."
Osanai cut in sharply, then smirked at Ritul. "What's wrong? You all alone now? The other guy off changing his diaper?"
Ritul grinned, baring his teeth, then took a deep breath and spoke.
"We could continue all this forever, but just answer my questions.
Who were you supplying?*l
What was your motive for entering there?
And the final one—who is Leo?"
Osanai and Lucas glanced at each other as Ritul asked his last question.
Leo, the world's most dangerous mafia boss, was also connected to some global leaders. But he wasn't always this powerful. Twenty years ago, he was just a normal boy living with his family in a world of chaos.
Syria, back then, was a warzone—different regions controlled by warlords, dictators, and foreign militaries. Some areas were under brutal regimes, others occupied by U.S. forces or rival factions. Leo was the middle child in a struggling family: two sisters, his parents, and his grandfather. His grandfather had once been rich enough to buy them a house, but it had decayed over time. His father sold fruits and vegetables for a living, while his mother was a housewife.
They never knew happiness. Once, his father was beaten so badly by the general secretary's son—for selling "unacceptable" produce—that he spent six months in the hospital. Unable to pay the bills, Leo's mother was forced to sell her body, visiting doctors every night just to keep him alive.
The military was no better. Soldiers stormed homes at will, dragging away women and girls—including Leo's mother and his thirteen-year-old elder sister—for their own cruel pleasures.
Years passed. Leo turned twelve. One day, while he was at school, an American general—having sold military secrets to the Syrian army—arrived with a squad of soldiers at Leo's home. They seized his mother and sixteen-year-old sister immediately. His mother sighed; this was just another grim routine. His sister, though trembling, had grown numb after years of being traded for survival.
His father, returning for lunch, could only bow his head in helpless shame—until Leo's eight-year-old sister hurled a cup at one of the soldiers.
Silence. Terror.
His mother begged,
"Take us instead—use us however you want, but leave her!"
His father dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor, sobbing.
"Please..."
The general gave a nod—but before the soldiers could retreat, the little girl shouted, "Leave my mummy and big sis alone!"
Pleading eyes locked onto the general. Too late.
A gunshot. The girl collapsed. Another shot—his father fell.
Leo's grandfather, watching from his chair, stood shakily.
"How... how could you—?"
A third shot. The old man crumpled.
That evening, Leo returned to a nightmare. Neighbors told him the soldiers had taken his mother and sister to their base. He ran, screaming.
The soldiers laughed as they let him in.
Inside a bloodstained tent, he found them—naked, bullet-riddled, their bodies broken. His mother had been shot twice between the legs. His sister, too small to endure so many men, had bled out.
Leo's scream tore through the night—
Then darkness.
Now, a fully grown man, he jolts awake—in Antarctica.